


Sleeping Irene

by ChrisCalledMeSweetie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/F, Fluff, Magic, Minor Character Death, Possible Dubcon Kissing, Romance, True Love, Very Much Wanted by Both Parties, hints of bdsm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/pseuds/ChrisCalledMeSweetie
Summary: A feminist retelling of Sleeping Beauty, with Molly as the unlikely hero.





	1. The Stage is Set

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IamJohnLocked4life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/gifts).



> Written in response to a prompt from IamJohnLocked4life, who was my winning bidder in the Fandom Trumps Hate charity auction.

Once upon a time, there was a queen who had no daughters to carry on her royal line. She consulted every enchantress, witch, and sorceress in the land, but all of their spells, potions, and charms proved useless. By some cruel, ironic twist of fate, Queen Mummy remained childless. 

 

At last, in desperation, Queen Mummy sought the help of a mage from a neighboring kingdom. When she found that she was with child, the queen was delighted. Her joy, however, proved to be short-lived. 

 

The baby arrived. The baby was healthy. But the baby was a boy. Mycroft would be fit — like all those of his sex — for only a minor position in the government.

 

For many years, Queen Mummy tried in vain to conceive another child. When all hope seemed past, a traveling wizard appeared at the castle. He promised the queen that if she lay with him, she would finally have what her heart desired. 

 

Nine months later, the queen was delivered of a baby — but the wizard had not quite delivered on his promise. This child, too, was a boy. Though she gave him a girl’s name — Sherlock — Queen Mummy knew that he could never take her place as monarch.

 

No matter what extraordinary measures she took, Queen Mummy was unable to bear another child. As a decade passed, and then another, the queen’s health began to fail. With no daughter to whom she could pass the mantle of authority, and no living female relations, Queen Mummy knew she must find a woman powerful and wise enough to assume her throne.

 

Irene, though young, had risen swiftly through the ranks of the palace guard to become Mistress of the Dungeon. She was known throughout the land for her ability to make the most hardened criminals beg — twice. First, they would beg for mercy as she meted out their punishment. Then, they would beg to be allowed to lick her boots.

 

The mercy, Irene never granted. The boot-licking, however, she did permit. Unbeknownst to the prisoners, Irene’s boots were enchanted. Anyone whose tongue touched their leather would never again be able to commit a crime.

 

Thus, Irene earned her reputation for being both powerful and wise. She was powerful enough to bring the toughest villains to their knees, and wise enough to know whom it was safe to release without any chance of further misconduct. In her, Queen Mummy found a worthy successor.

 

Once her heir was named, Queen Mummy, who had been keeping herself alive through sheer force of will, allowed nature to take its course. She did not survive beyond another fortnight. The day of her funeral was also the day of a coronation. All hailed the new Queen Irene.

 

Thus began a period of peace and prosperity. As part of the coronation ceremony, all of the citizens of the land had knelt to lick their new queen’s boots, and so crime was eliminated. With the dungeon no longer needed for prisoners, Queen Irene was able to turn it into her personal playroom, to which she invited only the the most select of her friends.

 

One young woman who longed to be invited to play was Molly Hooper. Molly was a healer, whose task in the palace had been to minister to the newly released prisoners before they were sent home. She had long admired Irene’s handiwork — marveling over the beautifully intricate patterns of lashes she left behind, and appreciating the skill it took to inflict such punishment without leaving any damage but that which could be easily healed by the application of a soothing balm. Molly was particularly intrigued by the fact that every one of her patients expressed a desire to return soon to the dungeon, though none of them ever did.

 

But, much as she wished it were otherwise, Molly had never met Irene. The closest she had come was at the coronation, when she, along with an endless line of other citizens, had knelt to lick the new queen’s boots. Irene hadn’t so much as glanced at her then, and Molly had been too shy to raise her eyes to the queen’s face. Now, Molly watched Irene from afar, hoping against hope that the queen would one day notice her. 

 

In the meantime, Molly’s role in the palace had changed. With no more prisoners in the dungeon, she now spent her days treating minor illnesses and injuries, many of which were caused by Sherlock’s experiments gone wrong. Queen Mummy’s younger son had grown up to be a wizard like his father, and he kept Molly busy with the fallout from his increasingly more elaborate spells.

 

Molly was not the only person whose attention had been drawn by Sherlock. Queen Irene had early on recognized that Mycroft would be content to work for her behind the scenes, but Sherlock was harder for her to read. Unlike everyone else in the land, he had never licked her boots, and so there was nothing to prevent him from causing whatever manner of mischief he might choose. Though he had given her no reason to question his loyalty, Queen Irene could not quite trust him. 

 

Moriarty — a powerful wizard from a neighboring kingdom — had been observing these goings-on with interest. He viewed the brash young genius, Sherlock, as a potential rival, and assumed that Queen Irene must do so, as well. He decided to enlist her aid to rid himself of the threat posed by another wizard as skilled as himself.

 

Moriarty presented himself at the palace, and asked to be taken to Queen Irene. He was met by the captain of her royal guard, a bold young man named John. Captain John escorted Moriarty to the throne room, where the queen happened to be deep in conversation with Sherlock.

 

“Your Majesty,” Moriarty began, in an ingratiating manner, “I humbly beg your pardon for this intrusion, but I am here on a matter most urgent. As a wizard myself, it has come to my attention that there is one in this palace — nay, one in this very room — who is scheming against you. I fear you must have him executed for treason, or risk your own life at his hands.”

 

Captain John stiffened at these words, but Queen Irene appeared unconcerned. 

 

“What say you, Sherlock?” she asked. “Have you been plotting against me?”

 

“My only plan,” replied Sherlock, with a significant look at John, “is to win the heart of my true love.”

 

Irene laughed. “True love does not exist. There is only power, and those too weak to use it. Fortunately, I have never been weak.”

 

Turning to Captain John, she commanded, “Throw this man in the dungeon.”

 

Moriarty’s face took on a gleeful smirk, until he realized that Queen Irene was gesturing, not at Sherlock, but at him. With a cry of rage, he leveled his wand at John, a gleam of murder in his eyes.

 

Sherlock acted instantly, casting a killing curse at Moriarty. 

 

The wizard collapsed at the foot of the throne. He seized one of Queen Irene’s ankles. With his dying breath, Moriarty cast his final spell. Whispering, so that only the queen could hear him, he vowed, “You shall be as one asleep for all eternity, unless awakened by true love’s kiss.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to IamJohnLocked4life for inspiring this story, and to alexxphoenix42 for beta reading it for me.
> 
> Chapter two is already written, and I'll be posting it soon. I bet you'll never guess what happens next... ;)


	2. The Curtain Rises

At Moriarty’s words, Queen Irene fell into an enchanted slumber. She was fully conscious, yet unable to move a muscle. With her eyes closed, she could not see what was happening, but she could hear Sherlock frantically asking whether John was okay, and John brushing off his concern as he called for the other guards. 

 

Soon the room was filled with the sound of rushing footfalls. Irene could feel Moriarty’s hand being pried away from her ankle. The acrid scent of smelling-salts reached her nostrils, but the harsh tang could not revive her. Voices called her name, but she was powerless to respond.

 

Irene felt her body being lifted from the throne and borne away. She heard a heavy door open, and the rustle of bedclothes being pulled back. She felt herself being laid down upon her own, familiar bed. Then, exhausted, she finally fell into a true sleep.

 

Many hours later, Irene awoke. She tried to open her eyes, but could not. Her body was still fully paralyzed. 

 

With a feeling of dread, Irene remembered the strange wizard’s final words. If only true love’s kiss could break this curse, then she was forever doomed. She had spoken the truth when she said that true love did not exist. How cruel of him to use her words against her, in the granting of a hope she must know to be false.

 

Irene gradually became aware that there was someone in the room with her, a quiet presence. For some reason, she found it comforting. She drifted back to sleep.

 

When next Irene awoke, there were gentle hands cradling her head. A strange scent filled the air. Delicate fingers parted her lips, and three drops of a warm, unfamiliar liquid — odd, but not unpleasant — landed on her tongue.

 

A voice spoke, low and soothing. “Take this, My Queen. I brewed it up special, just for you. It should help you to awaken.”

 

_But I_ ** _am_** _awake!_ Irene wanted to scream. _I just can’t move. You have to help me!_

 

Though Irene was sure she had made no outward sign, the woman somehow seemed to sense what she was trying so desperately to communicate.

 

“If you can hear me,” she said, taking Irene’s hand, “I want you to know that I’m doing everything I can to help you. My name is Molly, and I am a healer. I have never lost a patient, and I swear that you shall not be my first. I will do whatever it takes to bring you back, My Queen.”

 

_I wonder why she does not call me ‘Your Majesty,’ as all of my other subjects do,_ Irene thought. ‘ _My Queen’ sounds so possessive. But somehow, I find I do not mind. She has a pleasant voice, and her hands are soft. If I cannot care for myself, I am glad that it is Molly who is to care for me._

 

Over the next several days, Molly gave Irene tinctures, pills, and potions, one after another. She waved the scents of lavender, of peppermint, of lemon, ginger, and black pepper under her nose. She rubbed balms, and oils, and unguents into her skin. Nothing produced a change in the queen’s condition.

 

Once she had exhausted her own repertoire, Molly began to bring in others to assist her. She called upon every enchantress, witch, and sorceress in the land, to no avail. Even Sherlock attempted to reverse the wizard’s curse. But as no one except Irene had heard Moriarty’s words, no one knew what to do to break the enchantment.

 

Days passed, and then weeks, and then months. Whenever Irene awoke, Molly was there — her constant companion. Though Irene could not respond, Molly seemed to sense when she was conscious. She spoke to her of this and that — palace gossip, the change of the seasons, the festivities being planned by her subjects for when their queen at last returned to them.

 

Gradually, Molly began to speak of more personal matters. She talked about her childhood, about growing up, about her hopes, and dreams, and struggles. She told Irene about her work as a healer — how fascinating she found it, and how rewarding. She shared anecdotes about different patients, and what treatments she had used. Always, she came back to the point that no matter how long it took, eventually she would be successful in this case, as she had been in every other. 

 

As Molly talked, she touched Irene. She stroked her hair, or held her hand. She bathed her, and changed her clothes. She moved Irene’s limbs, to keep the muscles from atrophying, and shifted her position on the mattress, to prevent bed sores. She massaged her entire body, to keep the circulation flowing. Every touch was tender, and Irene could feel Molly’s hands healing something deep within her.

 

Irene longed to be able to open her eyes, to see this woman who had become her whole world. She wondered whether Molly was young or old, beautiful or horribly disfigured. She found it did not matter to her — she wished only to gaze upon the face of the woman she loved.

 

The woman she _loved?_ How could it be? Irene was much too smart to believe in true love. She had seen too much of the world. 

 

There was lust, and desire. There was power, and control. There was want, and need. But love? Love was an illusion.

 

Wasn’t it?

 

Irene searched for another word for her feelings. She felt gratitude, of course, for the care Molly provided. She felt admiration for Molly’s skills, and for her brilliant mind. She felt compassion for the hardships Molly had endured. All of these words were accurate, but the picture they painted was incomplete.

 

Only one word encompassed all that Irene felt. _Love._  

 

Irene was full to bursting with love, and still, she could not move or speak. She could only lie there, and listen to Molly’s voice, and feel her touch, and love her with all of her heart.

 

Molly, though — sensitive, intuitive, wonderful Molly — somehow seemed to sense the shift within Irene. Hesitantly at first, and then with growing confidence, she began to speak of her own feelings. She used words like respect and esteem. Then cherish and adore. And then, at last, _love._  

 

Trapped in her immobile body, Irene’s heart rejoiced. If this was all her life would be, it was enough. It was enough to love, and to know that she, in turn, was beloved.

 

Irene sensed Molly moving. There was a brief puff of air against her face, and then Molly’s lips brushed, ever so delicately, over her own. Without thinking, Irene kissed her back.

 

Irene kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. It didn’t even occur to her to open her eyes. She was drowning in the sweet sensation of kissing Molly, and nothing else mattered.

 

Molly was similarly affected, but at last she pulled away with a gasp. “You’re awake!” she cried.

 

And then Irene did open her eyes. She opened her eyes, and beheld the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. “Hello,” she said.

 

“M-m-my Queen,” Molly stammered, eyes cast down. “Forgive me! I didn’t mean —”

 

“I love you,” Irene said.

 

“Oh,” Molly said, her shyness vanishing as suddenly as it had come. A radiant smile blossomed across her face. “I love you, too!”

 

And so the spell was broken.

 

There was a great celebration throughout the land, with feasting and merrymaking for all. Bards sang their praises of Queen Irene, and the talented and faithful healer who had restored her to life. Bells rang, champagne corks popped, and people hugged each other in the streets.

 

Irene and Molly were wed, and they lived happily ever after.

 

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind comments and kudos make me smile. :)


End file.
